


It's Hot

by morgan_cian



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan_cian/pseuds/morgan_cian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> The heatwave makes Greg a very horny boy, but is it a dream or reality?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Hot

It was just so damn hot. The kind of heat that made you feel like you were breathing underwater instead of oxygen. It was the kind of heat that made your limbs heavy and thinking a chore.

 

Everyone was praying for rain to end the heat wave.

 

Thank god for central air conditioning, lemonade, and ice cubes, Greg Sanders thought standing in front of the cooling vent. Heat advisories were sending everyone indoors. And with it, even crime seemed to take a hiatus rather than face the heat.

 

Grissom was using a skeleton crew at the lab. Just in case, heat could spawn anger, hate, violence, and any other suitable word that fit their job description. He was cooling it because of maxed out overtime hours. Again.

 

Woof. Rampart put in his two cents, tongue lolling and panting.

 

Yeah, it was just too damn hot.

 

It also caused other problems. He groaned. He thought of sweat, sweat covered bodies, sliding against the sweaty body of his lover. Heat could make you horny. And god was he ever. He wanted Nick.

 

But Nick was on shift. Greg was at home. Hot, bothered, lethargic, and horny, he thought with this kind of heat he could be in hell.

 

  
_Nick_.

 

His hand slipped into his boxers, brushing over his sweaty pubes, and palming the flesh that demanded the attention of his lover.

 

He wanted to taste the salty tang of his skin, the bitter salt of his cum. He defended his need due to the loss of salt through sweat during the heatwave. Plus there was the added benefit of protein.

 

Greg rolled his eyes and bucked into his fist. Who was he kidding, he needed Nick, not his fucking hand.

 

He hissed at the damp cotton of his boxers dragging against his knuckles. He let go of his cock and shoved them off his hips. When they hit the floor, he kicked the sweaty material way. Nick, the neat freak, would have a fit of course. He was just going to have to get the hell over it. 

 

How dare he be on shift when he needed him? His hand enclosed around his flesh once more. He leaned back against the wall, opposite from the vent. He shivered at the cool streams of air on his overheated skin.

 

Oh god, Nick sucking his nipples and then his balls. Blowing a cool breath against the saliva drenched skin. His hips pumped and his back arched off the wall. He moaned visions of Nick, the sweat, the heat. His fist pulled and twisted. His eyes screwed shut, his nuts ached. His body felt heavy with the need to cum.

 

“What is it, baby?” He shuddered. The heat had made him delirious. He could have sworn his lover’s hot breath scorched his skin. “Do you need me? Do you need my hand, my mouth, my ass?”

 

He whimpered and ground into his fist. It had to be sweat, not the long, slow swipe of tongue across his Adam’s apple as Nick licked his neck.

 

“I know,” Nick’s southern drawl was thick. Greg dreamed of it often, the sweet, syrupy sounds of Dixie when Nick was aroused. “I’m gonna watch you, baby. I’m going to watch fuck yourself between fingers and your fist. Yer gonna show me how ya like it, baby.”

 

Greg sucked the salt from his fingers as he wet them even as the same salt made his eyes burn beneath his lids. He was afraid to open his eyes to the bleariness of his living room. But most of all he didn’t want to lose this apparition of Nick, his lover in his dreams since life had sucked him away.

 

He played with his ass, whimpering as his spit slick fingers grazed the sphincter. Then he was pushing inside himself, thrusting hard to graze the spot deep within himself to then in turn thrust into his sweat slick fist. He could feel the precome sliding up and down the distended veins as his blood pooled as hot as the weather in his groin.

 

Nick’s dreamy litany of dark carnal pleasures was in his ears, the ghost like sting of Nick’s teeth against his throat. The low growl of ‘come, baby’ had his hips straining and his voice shouting. The spew of cum was like a volcano, in his fist, across his belly, as high as chest.

 

His knees wobbled and he slowly sank to the floor. His blinked owlishly, naked in his living room with his boxers crumpled at his feet. He was alone. His head thumped against the sheetrock. He had wanted it to be real. 

 

Greg’s legs still felt like jell-o as he stumbled into his kitchen. Fluids, he needed fluids.

 

“Hey, baby.” Nick grinned, lifting his hand that glistened with come to his mouth.

 

Greg yelped and flailed. It was damn good to be mated to a quick, athletic studly Texan. Nick’s muscled arms went about his hips and steadied him.

 

“It was a dream,” he croaked. He could feel the evidence of Nick’s arousal grinding against his hip.

 

“Sure was,” Nick agreed thickly, his mouth against Greg’s ear. “I love watching you pleasure yourself. Makes me want to screw yer ass through the mattress.”

 

“But you came,” Greg muttered. He could smell the come, it was bleeding out of Nick’s sweat soaked pores.

 

“No, baby, that was you.” Nick growled, maneuvering Greg onto his shoulder and lifting him off the ground. “I’ll give you my come, multiple times in fact.”

 

“My hand, my mouth, my ass,” Greg intoned lethargically, echoing Nick's earlier words. He watched the curved muscle of Nick’s ass flex as he was carried into the bedroom.

 

“Way to much talking,” Nick decided stripping out of his clothes.

 

Greg sighed as the golden, sweat sheened body settled over his own. Talk about your dreams come true. God bless the sun, bring on the heatwave.

 


End file.
